Monday, August 03, 2009

Greetings one and all. Just a brief note today to inform you that a) since I fell out of metal when Limp Bizkit hijacked it (all for the Nookie, so they say), installment three has taken copious amounts of research. By research, I of course mean watching videos in which half-naked women resort to cannabalism and goateed longhairs sing like a larengitis-ed Cookie Monster. It will be up shortly, as soon as I understand the difference between "Black Metal," "Doom Metal" "Sludge Metal" and "Sludgy Black Doom Metal."

I'm barely joking.

B) is simply a heartfelt thanks to everyone in Berkeley. We had a phenomenal time, and, though Pete's vocal cords sounded the next day as if he'd been gargling with pebbles, we'd play again rightrightright now. Circularly, I even got to talk metal with Irish women, one of whom called Opeth "brilliant," which I've discerned is the British/Irish way of saying "awesome," yet, somehow much cooler. Loved the Mother Hips too. They were awesome. Or brilliant. Or brilliantly awesome. You can slice that anywhichway you want. The best time I've had at a show in quite some time so, definitely, thanks one and all.

Saturday, August 01, 2009

Lionel Hutz, as you should well know, was a criminally incompetent lawyer on the Simpsons. This was before Phil Hartman's wife got all stabby and they had to retire the character, thus setting back the cause of comedy for dozens of Rob Schneider-flavored years. Those were dark days, friends.

There's this Halloween episode where Homer has sold his soul to the devil for a donut and the Simpsons hire Hutz to try and get Homer's soul back. After the Devil's prosecutor calmly asserts that Homer signed over his soul in a contract, Lionel Hutz offers this rebuttal: "That was a right-pretty speech, sir. But I ask you, what is a contract? Webster's defines it as "an agreement under the law which is unbreakable." Which is unbreakable! Excuse me, I must use the restroom."

After which, of course, he escapes out the window above the shitter.

Now, I bring this up, because we signed a contract to play Chico tonight and a contract, supposedly, is unbreakable. Lionel Hutz said so. But then the promoter and contacted us and said "Oopsies, nevermind. Will you play for a handful of M&Ms and a small burlap sack filled with mysterious, soggy things?" to which we said "No thank you." Then he escaped out the proverbial bathroom window.

Point being, we can't play Chico. I was all giddy about it too. If you bought tickets and were similarly screwed by unscrupulous jackassery, please feel free to email us birdmonster@gmail.com with a confirmation of said sale and we'll throw you on the guestlist to any show of your choosing. Unless, of course, it's the promoter's wedding. That's a private party for which we're getting $400,000. Oh wait. Hold on, my phone's ringing. Uh-huh. No more $400,000 wedding? What's the offer? An expired gift certificate to Starbucks? And a jaunty cowboy hat? We'll get back to you.